Chapter Three – February, 1941 – Setting the Stage for More Heroes
Oskar considered what he planned to send in his letter to his father at Stalag 13. He felt badly about lying, and decided to let his mother handle the comments about taking food to Mrs. Mueller's. He looked around the dark passageway, several feet wide, in which he sat sweating, and determined that more reinforcements and a little widening would be needed before they went all the way to the tree trunk.
But, where would they get wooden beams? The dangers of a cave-in badgered him, try as he might to forbid the devil from tricking him. The hand of God could build it, but the devil could knock it down. The imagery made him snicker, as he pondered Heidi, at a younger age, constantly knocking down the towers constructed by his brothers.
He heard two sets of footprints, but felt no fear. There was a distinct difference between shoes and heavy military boots. He recognized the pitter-patter as belonging to Albert and Heinrich. "Come on up. We're going to blow out the candles," exclaimed the new five-year-old, accompanied because he was still leery of the dark.
Oskar contemplated the tunnel while nodding. The utter darkness seemed depressing to some, but to him, it merely made the Lord's light shine all the more. He'd immersed himself in the Bible since the beginning of the bizarre circumstances that led to the building of this tunnel. He opened the trap door, neatly concealed under an easily movable chest of old clothes, and wiped the sweat off his brow, donning his shirt. Even the dimly lit cellar made him blink several times before his eyes adjusted to the brightness, the sweat gleaming on him as he wiped his arms with a rag, just in case. There would hopefully soon be two other ways - through the soon-to-be finished emergency tunnel or the entrance under a barrel in the back of their house.
As he walked past the Rubins, he felt deep sorrow. Two months ago, they would be upstairs celebrating with his brother. Yet, he reminded himself there was one good thing – they were still alive. Indeed, he felt a special friendship toward them, though he couldn't explain why. He decided to suggest to his mother that perhaps they could hold the blowing out downstairs. If only I could take their place, he said to himself. Shaking his head, he slowly trudged up the steps.
Blinking profusely, he froze momentarily, eyeing his father as the obese guard walked into the door. He noticed that the man, Hans Schultz, wore different stripes. Had he been promoted, Oskar wondered. Suddenly, he realized that he had to dodge him. He asked the Lord to conceal the Rubins' children from his dad, and to keep him from having to lie.
Heinrich ran to their father first, the others more comfortable meandering in the darkness. Carl and Heidi also ran to Hans, and as Oskar entered audio range, he learned that his father had advanced to a position as chief of the guards.
"I will need it, too, with all the food the children are eating," their father joked as he hugged Oskar and Carl. "Oskar, the snow is not all melted and you are already dirty," came the combination tease and chiding. "Can you not set a good example for your younger siblings?"
Oskar smiled. "I keep them clean by taking all the mud they would take," the boy joked. He had done much of the digging, though the others assisted. Oskar knew more about supporting it so the ground could not cave in, too. He breathed a sigh of relief as the question was dropped. Father probably assumes we were just tussling a lot in the basement, he pondered.
"Well, you do a good job of it. Guess what? I got a promotion!" Schultz looked quite excited, a huge grin on his face, as he added, "They are even talking about making me Sergeant of the Guard someday." There had been escapes under other guards' watches, but not under his – Kommandant Klink had not yet arrived.
Oskar was delighted, though a little concerned that this meant his dad supported the Party - the Party that had robbed his friends of their parents, their childhood, and their safety. Bouncing a little, he loudly declared, "That is wonderful news, Father. Yes, we are eating a lot, we have grown a lot." He hoped his mother was right, that they would seem much bigger to Hans. Oskar continued to speak noisily, walking toward the open door to ensure the Rubins' children would hide. "It is great to see you again, Father, can you stay long?"
He closed the door, unsure of whether he wanted him to stay or not. He still loved the man, but he'd grown to care deeply about Micah, Isaac, and Moses. And, for the life of him, he couldn't be sure whether his father could be trusted to keep a secret. Even if he could, would the Gestapo be able to drag it out of him, as Otto had warned?
Hans smiled, glad to be able to share in one child's birthday, if he couldn't be there all the time. "I want a piece of that cake," Schultz remarked.
"I helped Mommy make it," exclaimed Heidi.
Heidi's dad smiled at her as Gretchen teased him. "Is food all you ever think about?"
"It is when my precious little girl makes it," he commented, bubbling at the darling, blond-haired girl who gazed lovingly at him. He was happy to finally have had a daughter. He considered that a family wasn't total until there were sons and daughters. Besides, he'd always expected his boys to be nice, and having a little girl taught his children to be especially courteous to ladies.
With the delight he took in having a little girl, it was no wonder that, a few years later, when Kommandant Klink remarked that they weren't "holding a girl," he said that he wished he was. Of course, Klink was referring to a young lady the Gestapo was holding then.
Schultz heard noise downstairs, and inclined an ear toward the cellar as Moses' crying - kept getting louder. Recalling what she'd been told to do earlier, Heidi pretended to act like a baby, suddenly making funny crying noises. The cries turned into giggles as she pretended more and more and as her brothers tickled her and made funny faces at her, but they served their purpose. "Oh, you are trying to act like little Wolfgang, eh," her father remarked, chuckling.
Oskar, chosen to be their official spokesman, nodded. He remarked of his infant cousin that "Wolfie is fun, we love having babies around." Could he trust Wolfgang's parents...no, it was too hard to know who to trust. He experienced shock at his loss of faith, but tried to remind himself that God would help him, forcing those thoughts out of his mind.
After Hans left that evening, returning from his 24-hour pass, Oskar went down to the Jewish children. He gazed up at Heidi, waiting at the top of the stairs, and concluded that his little sister had to conquer her fear of the dark way too fast if they ever needed to evacuate. Wishing to allow her to see the children, he brought them up to the main floor.
"Oskar, you know what a chance you are taking," his mother spoke sternly.
"I have rehearsed the plan with them, if there is a knock on the door," explained the eleven-year-old. Soon to be twelve, he felt he possessed great skill in explaining things - he was old enough to understand complex subjects, yet young enough to recall how young children thought.
Albert, putting excess food into bags for the Rubins, shook his head. Always very practical, he knew careful preparation was needed. "Yes, but have you practiced it?"
Oskar looked at him, bemused. "My tantrum idea wasn't rehearsed, and God pulled us through."
"But, practice makes perfect." Gretchen cleaned the dishes, mildly agreeing with Albert but resolving to stay out of this dispute unless it became too heated. The situation, still terribly confusing, would require all of their brainpower. "What if Heidi gets scared going down there?'
"I will not be scared," Heidi insisted, hands on her hips.
Albert glanced sideways at her. "Then go downstairs right now!"
"But it's so dark." Thinking of how to extract herself from her declaration, she commented that, "Well, I am a tiny bit scared, but not really."
Oskar nodded slowly. Albert is right, he realized. We do need to practice.
Gretchen decided now was the time to enter, if only to soothe her daughter. Comforting the younger ones will come with time, she told herself, but even Oskar is still very young. She knew he might not think of it right now, so she knelt down and hugged the child herself. "It is all right to admit you are scared, my dear. It is just like with your nightmares, the devil tries to trick us, but you know, Jesus knows what it is like, and He can comfort you. In order for Him to help, though, you have to tell the truth about it."
Albert agreed swiftly. "See what I mean? We try to be Schultz's Heroes, but only with practice will we know what works. We cannot just make it look like we know what we are doing."
Gretchen nodded. As Oskar pondered the notion, she considered her own worst fears, that there would be no time. She'd thought of letting the children go themselves if need be, but that would require even more precision than other things. "I agree, we need to be ready, but what do you propose we do? Stage a sort of air raid drill every night?"
"Not every night. We just have to make sure we don't make mistakes. We have a copy of the death certificate, and the names of contacts, but can we get them fast?" Gretchen wasn't sure. "Then, let's practice right now. There is a knock." As he knocked on the counter, he and Oskar ran to grab papers, the former glancing at a watch. Albert ran to tell Carl and Heinrich that they were running a practice drill, and then ran to the cellar with them. The Jewish children and Heidi looked on with a sense of bemusement, unsure of what to make of the scene. The group ran down the steps. Albert studied his watch as he trudged up the stairs, the others following.
"What was all that?" Isaac wanted to know.
Gretchen felt the inquiry like a cannonball in the chest. They'd told the Rubin children they were being hunted by the Nazis, but never informed them of their parents' exact whereabouts. A little part of her kept refusing to believe they could be dead.
Still, as Albert complained about how that "took way too much time," she recognized that, sooner or later, she would have to tell these innocents just what kind of cruelty they were up against. She just didn't know how.
"We are preparing in case we must evacuate. You know how we do in an air raid drill?" Isaac nodded. "Well, if these bad people, these Nazis, come, we must leave, maybe in a hurry."
"But," Micah pointed out innocently, "if they catch us, we would be with our parents, right?"
Gretchen swallowed hard, unsure of how to react. She'd told her youngest not to tell the Jewish children of their parents' probable deaths. "I...do not know," she stammered, unsure of how to put it. Were they dead? Could they possibly have survived? Even the looks in her three oldest childrens' eyes harbored little hope. The youngest maintained only very fuzzy images about death and its finality. Gretchen hedged after what seemed like a very long time, saying, "they would keep you separated anyway, so that is no help. We must hide you until..."
The words hung as she hugged each and walked away. Until what? Until they were rescued? Until their parents somehow magically returned? Until the Nazis were overthrown...fat chance of that happening, she knew. She could not help but impersonate her husband upon what must have been the twentieth "until what," "I know nothing, noth-ing!"
Oskar joined her in her room after the youngest children were put to bed. "Mother, why could you not tell them?"
She shook her head. "I guess I did not want to break their little hearts," she said tearflly. "How would you have liked it, if someone told you your father and I would never come back?"
"It would be hard," Oskar agreed, hugging her. "It would probably be the truth, though, that they are gone." He thought again of his frustration over the innocence that the events of the last few weeks had shattered. "Too many people are telling lies. I cannot stand it!"
Gretchen hugged him, and wept, too, as he wept on her shoulder. Her oldest son no longer held that youthful innocence he once did. Her babies were growing up too fast.
Schultz made it to Sergeant of the Guard right around the time that a few changes had been made. He'd also made it home a few other times that year, on 24-hour passes or three-day leave.
January, 1942
The number of prisoners was not large, but there were a few new ones every couple months. There was also a new Kommandant that fall; Wilhelm Klink, and a new number, as with the war not ending as fast as had been promised, the Luftwaffe chose to build more camps and renumber them. Schultz was now at Stalag 13.
He came home for Christmas, and enjoyed a wonderful time with his family, eating Christmas dinner and opening presents. Now, he'd earned another 24-hour pass. He had much to tell about an unusual American prisoner. However, he would save that till after the children went to bed.
"Mother," Heidi wondered lowly, "we are disobeying orders by hiding Jews, right?"
The question stunned Gretchen as they worked in the kitchen, stuffing food into bags. She kept her composure, however. "Yes, and that is all right because the orders are evil, they go against God, just like when I read to you about Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-Nego."
"Why can't Father disobey his orders and stay home with us?"
Gretchen sighed, considering the complexity of life. She wished there were simple answers. Indeed, she wished she could preserve her daughter's faith that said mothers knew everything. "Lord," she prayed silently, "don't let her lose faith in You as she loses it in me." Yes, Gretchen thought, it sounds defeatist, but she will lose it in me, for I am human.
As least we are not hypocrites, she pondered, recalling a lesson Frederick had taught her. "Children can see hypocrisy very well," he'd explained, "we just try to crush that ability so we don't have to look at ourselves in the mirror and start living right." She was so glad they'd never seen such an attitude in herself and Hans.
Trying her best, she emphasized that "Our leaders want to sin against God by killing Jews, that is why it is okay to hide them. But, it is not a sin to serve in the military. God tells us to obey our leaders when the orders are not against God." She neglected to mention that consequences must be paid if disobedience is discovered, and that she could easily be killed, leaving the precious little girl next to her motherless. The concept nearly made her weep, and she hugged Heidi, holding her very tight. "I love you, dear," she said sincerely.
Oskar finished reading in the living room, and observed his father relaxing in his den, his eyes closed. Now is a perfect time, he considered, grabbing the sacks prepared by the family and strolling down to the basement.
Hans awakened from a short snooze and walked out to the kitchen. "Has Oskar taken the food to Mrs. Mueller?" He would have enjoyed going, but whenever he was home, Oskar had managed to leave when he himself wasn't ready. As his wife affirmed Oskar's departure, Hans forced himself to smile, his flabby torso unsatisfied. I am too used to LeBeau's cooking, he deliberated.
Walking into the living room, proud of his son for taking so much responsibility as the "man of the house," he noticed the book Oskar had been reading. He frowned, deeply disturbed. Examining the cover, Hans wondered what people ever saw in his leaders. If they'd really read "Mein Kampf," they would know how much hatred...what was this? After picking it up, he noticed that the cover was merely a jacket, with something underneath. That was an unusual way to package that book. Then, he turned past the first few pages, all blank.
Gretchen peeked in, her husband's joyful countenance telling her all she needed to know. As he gazed upon the words "Holy Bible," and leafed through the pages, Hans grinned immensely, ecstatic that his son wasn't falling for the hate his leaders spread; at least not yet. He hoped he wouldn't, though in Germany there were always such worries. Hans left that room to go play with his younger children, vowing to reveal nothing of the discovery. He knew the government would not like his son reading the Bible, and may believe he had something to do with it.
Oskar rapped meekly on the door twice, and Gretchen opened it, grinning. Oskar pondered whether these could be the "End Times" – he noted that on a map, Moscow was directly north of Jerusalem. Still, Frederick had told him the chances were probably slim that Hitler was the AntiChrist, though one never knew. His thoughts, however, were interrupted by his mother.
"Oskar," she said, "your father saw the Bible, and looked very happy." She slowly closed the basement door.
Oskar smiled. Perhaps there was still hope. "There are times I think we should tell him, we would be able to be with them so much more. And then..." He didn't know how to finish.
"It is hard, we have so little freedom. Just know you do not need to worry."
Oskar would try not to. However, he couldn't help but wonder.
He snuck down into the basement that night to be with the Rubins and to reflect. It had been one very long year. His world had turned upside-down so quickly; yes, one little thing was promising, but he couldn't' help but wonder how his father was affected by things. What was he hearing in the military? What did they make him listen to? True, he was around Allied soldiers, but would that be enough? Oskar forced himself to remain strong for their guests' sake, but he couldn't help but wonder, what exactly did his father think?
Had he been upstairs, he might have heard something that changed his mind about his father, that being news of a very strange prisoner. The man, named Hogan, had been there two weeks, and as Schultz said, things were "very strange" around him.
"The first few days he was there, he convinced me he was a Hollywood director," Schultz began, counting on one hand, "a baseball player for the Yankees named Joe DiMaggio, and the King of Siam. Now, I was not sure about the other two, but while I had heard that we were at war with the Americans, I was not aware that we were even at war with Siam. And, even if we were…"
"Hans, get to the point."
"Well, I believed him, anyway. I do not know what Colonel Hogan is up to; but sometimes, it already seems like it is him running that camp."
-----------------------------
It was early in the New Year when Robert Hogan entered Stalag 13. After many successful missions flying for the RAF, he'd been approved. Now, he could safely come as an American, and make some think he hadn't been as good – shot down this early – and, he could get to work.
After the usual interrogation and welcoming, he met the prisoners – almost all British, but with a few French. He began to interview them. He took the two he considered best for his idea, Peter Newkirk and Louis LeBeau, aside into his office one day.
"You're not Joe DiMaggio, are you?" Newkirk asked.
"I'm close. I hit on 56 straight women without a rejection once."
LeBeau scoffed. "Small potatoes to a Frenchman. We are far better than anyone at that."
"What, an' you think we English can't make love?"
"You can't even make food," LeBeau retorted.
"Good; you two can let off steam, and even if you fight it won't last. Right?" Hogan said, taking control and also ensuring that the two could remain on the same page.
They agreed. They'd been best friends for almost a year, and accepted each other's ribbing very well. Hogan was pleased at this, as it was part of his plan. He needed men who worked together well for what he was thinking, and sometimes, the whole was greater than the sum of its parts. There might have been a few in camp who would be a bit better at some things than these two, but he'd noticed they had a close friendship, despite the ornery comments at times. He grinned broadly as he explained.
"Good. Because what I've got in mind will require teamwork. You'll have to be willing to risk your lives for each other and for the cause, no matter what anyone's said. Now, I'm not ordering you to do this, but if you really want to hurt the enemy, I've got an idea." He reported that he'd checked for bugs, but moved in closer, anyway. "It's good there weren't any escapes the last 2 months since Klink came and it was renamed Stalag 13, because that's gonna help. Gentlemen, I submitted a proposal to my leaders, and everyone agrees. I put up a big smokescreen coming out with the 504th after a bunch of flights with the RAF. In reality, I'm here because my proposal was approved - a program to rescue downed airmen and get them through to England – right under the Germans' noses."
"Sacre bleu! That is incredible!" LeBeau proclaimed.
"That's impossible, mate. From right here?" Newkirk asked, his eyes widening.
Hogan beamed, putting his arms around the other two. "You're talking to a man who believed in Jules Verne and H.G. Wells so much as a boy, he thought for sure the headlines by now would read, 'Robert Hogan, first man to walk on the moon.' I've always dreamed big. My air force knew it. Yours found out last year, Newkirk." He walked a little, and said, "I never thought much about details, but once I got older I started. And, I thought enough about this to put together a proposal." He chuckled. "They thought I was nuts at first, but then they thought, 'What if?'" he finished, in a dreamy tone that seemed to encompass his entire outlook.
"Begging the colonel's pardon, but I still think you're 'round the bend," Newkirk said.
"That's okay. Let's get it all out of our system right away. Impossible. Can't be done. It'll never work. Got any others?" he spoke rapidly.
"It's suicide, Sir."
Hogan pointed at him. "Good one, Newkirk. Okay, any other negative comments? If not, you either say you don't want to be a part of what could be the greatest undercover operation in history – and you can opt out at any time - or I tell you how we're gonna do it."
Newkirk and LeBeau both gave in, the Englishman more slowly. They recognized the colonel's leadership style, a style that said it was going to get done, that somehow he'd always find a way.
"Great. We'll need a tunnel system, and lots of construction materials; it's almost a six-month project to set up. I understand they're still building a couple new Luftstalags…we'll get some of the materials shipped here. LeBeau, the guy who brings in the dogs; think you can sneak out in the truck and get a message to the Underground?" He could try. "Okay, good. We'll need some men dropped who are really good at digging, supports, things like that. Then, ask them to send a plane that can take a dive, long enough for good radio men… wait." A light bulb seemed to go on above his head, and he snapped his fingers. It was time to present his other idea, now that he was on the ground. "Let's rub the Germans' faces in it a bit about this 'master race.'"
"Even more? How, mon colonel?" LeBeau wondered, already fascinated. Always somewhat impulsive, and anxious to defeat the Germans, he was ready to go all the way.
"Our military is segregated, but last year it was given permission to start up a group called the Tuskegee Airmen. Tell them we want some of them. The Germans will house them with us if they get captured near here, even though they're a different race." A plan which really frustrated James Kinchloe and others a couple weeks later, when told their mission was to report to a man stationed in a prison camp, till he met Hogan and learned how civil Hogan was making everything; just being called "Kinch" by the others was such a step up from usual for him.
"Right," Newkirk said sarcastically, "just like you plan to get Klink to keep you here with us enlisted men by sayin' you've got some sort of medical training."
"I convinced him I was Joe DiMaggio for a while; he even wanted my autograph. I'll admit he wasn't too sure about the King of Siam bit…" He thought of something else, folding his arms. "For the sabotage bit, we'll have to take it as it comes, a good demolitions man…we'll blow up that bridge when we come to it, though. Oh, by the way, you guys are okay with Negro flyers in the group, right?'
"I'd take a bleedin' Martian if it meant defeatin' them ruddy Krauts." LeBeau agreed with his friend, though Newkirk was still a bit stunned and cynical; to him, this proposal was as likely as men from Mars. He would warm to it as it came together, though.
"Good, Klink at least seems ambivalent about them, and I know Schultz and that young corporal… Langenscheidt?" It was. "They said they'd be okay with prisoners of another race when I posed the question hypothetically. Now, we might have a problem with some men if I make one my second in command, but we can deal with that then. Tell London we need the Tuskegee Airmen and the diggers first," he instructed LeBeau.
"Excuse me, Sir, I know Louis here knows some German from when he was a chef at an exclusive Paris restaurant, but he don't know enough to get very far. An', I hardly know any. When I first came he had to translate for me.'
"We can learn German in six months. Come on, we practice it whenever we can, act like the defeated prisoners they want us to think we are, and say we're learning because we figure everyone will speak it someday," Hogan explained. "I took it in school, and studied it for months before I came here. You'll catch on."
LeBeau was awed by Hogan's amazing plan. "Mon colonel," he said, already feeling a great sense of devotion, "how long did all of this take you?"
"Well, the rescuing airmen, the tunnels, all that was from when I was a boy, playing war; the other kids thought I was nuts with the ideas I'd invent. Now, the sabotage part, which we'll get to a little later, that was more recent, and not really part of my proposal."
LeBeau gasped. "There's more?"
Hogan nodded. "My proposal simply outlined what I wanted to do and how I would accomplish it, how I would get the manpower, how long it would take to set up, and a week by week calendar of planning so they would know just what could be done and when. I sent it to the Pentagon in 1940, in fact. Now, once we get set up there are other things that can be done along with that; that's where the sabotage part comes in. I'll fill you in later; right now I've got to go talk to Klink about letting me stay. Then we've gotta get Schultz to ignore stuff; we'll work him up to big things slowly so we can be done by the time we open for business." He donned his hat and left.
His closest English friend merely shook his head as the Frenchman whistled. "All that from playing games as a wee lad?"
"I know. Incredible, isn't it?" he spoke with great admiration.
"Louis…there's a big part of me that's sure the colonel's 'round the bend." At the same time, Newkirk thought of the dreams he used to dream when he was little. Of the frustration of war, and of being stuck there for so long. And, he was forced to admit, in a lower voice, "An' yet, when I think of how long I've been here, an' how much damage the ruddy Krauts are doin' to me home…there's this piece o' me that just wants it to be true. That just wants to think that we can do it. An', by jove, I wanna be part of that."
"Me too, my friend. Me, too," LeBeau said wistfully, thinking of his beloved France.
--------------------------------------------------
While Klink always spoke of his perfect record, Hogan once said before he (Hogan) came, there were so many escapes, they had to put a revolving door on the gate. Hogan's comment in another about it being the anniversary of Klink taking command may also mean someone else had been there before. Trying to balance the two, it was felt best, when some friends and I discussed it, to go this route, and say it was renumbered.
- Hitler promised a quick end to the war. Germany wasn't totally on a wartime footing till January of 1941! Therefore, a decision to build more LuftStalags only once it became apparent they weren't going to win quickly is in keeping with the German military in World War Two.
- Something he may feel the fellow who knows him inside and out is a bit too close to
- The "approved part of the mission" according to an early episode, Hogan could have submitted the plan and had it approved, rather than London ordering it.